


between the lines

by reywrite



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (mostly crowley's POV with a bit of Azi at the beginning), Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Universe, Light Angst, M/M, One Shot, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), POV Crowley (Good Omens), Pining, for now enjoy this, my next fic will be much happier I promise, the holy water scene was a Lot so I had to write this immediately, this is much angstier than I was planning it to be but what can I say? I love to suffer :)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-01 19:39:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19184317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reywrite/pseuds/reywrite
Summary: The Earth kept spinning, the stars kept shining, humanity kept breathing and dying and falling in love. Crowley thought it was quite unfair of life to go on so smoothly when his heart felt as if it had stopped beating the second Aziraphale had left his sight.-Sort of an outtake of canon, set around the holy water scene. Mostly based on the show.





	between the lines

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone! 
> 
> It's been a while since I last posted (partly because I lost my password lol) but Good Omens being adapted as a show dragged the writer's block out of me. Stay tuned, I have a longer fic with these two planned!
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful betas, you guys are my saviors. ❤️
> 
> And a quick bonus before you start: here's my [writing playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/gjannjktqr1ycigx4owmfu77t/playlist/7jVFkjXEnSy0P3PAIabFGB?si=Lq4jJM9eRduk4xgiGFYoRA)—I listen to it on repeat whenever I'm writing anything, including this fic.

Aziraphale had made a decision.

He’d been up all night worrying, unable to keep still for even a minute. Of course, angels didn’t need sleep, but Aziraphale, always one for earthly pleasures, often took the night to get some reading done and rest. He loved how serene and still the world became at nighttime. The streetlights outside the windows of the bookshop gleamed gold like dimming stars, and the sounds of people chattering, traveling, and most of all _living_ faded until there was nothing, save him and his books. He quite liked it that way.

But tonight was different. All the noise in the world was inside Aziraphale’s head, and he could not get it to hush up. All this internal chaos stemmed from one thing: he’d heard from a reliable source that the demon known as Crowley was planning a robbery on a church.

If Aziraphale knew Crowley, and he did, then there was only one thing he could want from a church. Holy water. Just over a century ago, Aziraphale had denied his request, with good reason. How could he give Crowley the thing that very well may kill him? How could he live with himself knowing he had given Crowley the means for his eventual death? And yet, he had no other choice — Crowley going out to get his own holy water was far worse.

So he made a decision. He couldn’t stop Crowley. Six thousand years had taught him nothing if not that. The demon did whatever he wanted, no matter what Aziraphale thought about it. It was part of why he — well, that’s not worth discussing. Angels did not think such thoughts about demons. It simply wasn’t the way of things.

Crowley would get his holy water, but he would get it on Aziraphale’s terms. Aziraphale would just have to hope that he never used it.

~

Crowley had no doubts.

He had no fears, no worries, no concerns about what he was planning on doing. He was sure everything would go just fine, he wouldn’t experience an agonizing death, and certainly a very angry Aziraphale wouldn’t show up. He’d get his holy water and go home. Everything would be great.

At least, that was what he told himself as he slid into the Bentley, taking a second to admire his James Bond bullet-hole windshield decals. A good purchase, that.

He was about to put the key in the engine before he sensed a body beside him. He inwardly groaned. Well, at least that was one thing to check off the “List of Things that Could Go Horribly Wrong”.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, turning his head to look at the angel seated beside him.

“I needed a word with you.” Aziraphale said through tight lips.

Crowley frowned. “What?”

“I work in SoHo. I hear things.”

Crowley feigned confusion, and Aziraphale continued, “I hear that you’re setting up a caper to rob a church.”

So the bastard angel did know. Crowley opened his mouth to come up with some elaborate story that would quite clearly explain why he so badly needed to get into that church, but Aziraphale interrupted his train of thought.

“Crowley, it’s too dangerous. Holy water won’t just kill your body. It will destroy you completely.” The distress in his voice was evident, and Crowley shifted in his seat uncomfortably, turning his head away from the heat of Aziraphale’s piercing blue eyes. He wondered absentmindedly if he was just imagining it, or if Aziraphale truly was so holy that even his gaze could harm a demon. 

“You told me what you think 105 years ago.”

( _and you think I don’t know how dangerous this is? I don’t like it anymore than you do, but this is a necessity._ )

“And I haven’t changed my mind.” Aziraphale responded, prompting Crowley to frown in preparation for another argument. “But”, he paused, “I can’t have you risking your life. Not even for something dangerous. So, you can call off the robbery.” As he spoke, he pulled something out — a thermos. Cream colored, with the middle section a comfortingly familiar tartan pattern. Comforting, until Crowley realized what the circumstances would be if he ever had to use the water. Even as he was trying to find a way to be able to fend for himself, Aziraphale just had to insert himself into everything. That was how things were between them, Crowley supposed. He’d never truly be able to escape the angel, but at least the opposite was also undeniably true. 

Crowley’s hands shook as he took the container. “Don’t go unscrewing the cap” Aziraphale warned, as if Crowley would even think of doing something as stupid as that. 

“It’s the real thing?” Crowley cursed himself for the waver in his voice, but he knew how much this meant. For Aziraphale to give him actual holy water…

“The holiest.” Aziraphale replied, and something in his voice told Crowley this hadn’t been blessed by just any priest—Aziraphale himself may even have done the deed.

“After everything you said…should I say thank you?”

( _thank you so much, angel, this means more than I can say._ )

“Better not.” Aziraphale’s eyes flickered to Crowley’s for a second, then away.

Crowley gathered himself, turning his head towards the angel. “Well, can I drop you off anywhere?”

( _don’t leave yet, I haven’t seen you in so long._ )

“No, thank you,” came the polite reply.

Crowley did his best to school his features (after all, Aziraphale turned him down often, why should he be so upset?) but something must have shown through, because Aziraphale began speaking again, this time with a softer tone.

“Oh, don’t look so disappointed. Perhaps one day we could…I don’t know. Go for a picnic. Dine at the Ritz.”

Crowley pouted, catching the apology in Aziraphale’s eyes and knowing it would be impossible to make him stay. Of course he wouldn’t stay. Crowley should never have thought otherwise. Still, he gave it another try.

“I’ll give you a lift. Anywhere you want to go.” 

( _please, Aziraphale._ )

“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”

Crowley turned his head away, knowing that hurt was written across his face, and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Not hard to go fast when you’re barely moving, angel.”

( _I’d slow down for you, if I could figure out how_ )

“I’m — I should be going. Goodbye, Crowley. Use that water wisely, please.”

And then he was gone, and Crowley was left alone, holding the one thing most demons would do anything to get away from. But Crowley had never been “most demons”, had he.

“Most demons” didn’t feel this way about angels.

~

The Earth kept spinning, the stars kept shining, humanity kept breathing and dying and falling in love. Crowley thought it was quite unfair of life to go on so smoothly when his heart felt as if it had stopped beating the second Aziraphale had left his sight.

Several days later, with the holy water locked away in his safe (where it would stay until it was needed, but heavens, Crowley hoped it would never come to that) Crowley was lounging in his apartment, watching Saturday morning cartoons and tossing an occasional glare towards his plants. He had been slacking in that department lately; they seemed to be a less vibrant shade of green. They were probably due for a good scolding.

As much as he tried to focus on other things, his thoughts kept slipping to Aziraphale. More specifically, to their conversation in the Bentley. Something was off about the way the angel had acted, and he couldn’t seem to put it out of his mind.

Aziraphale worried a lot. It was a part of him, one that Crowley had grown to be quite fond of. But something about the tightness of his voice that night was…different. It was fear, not worry. Sure, he was giving Crowley something that had the power to hurt him, but he must have known that even Crowley would take care around such a deadly substance.

Unless. 

Unless Aziraphale thought Crowley wanted the water _because_ it had the power to end his life…oh goddammit. Crowley jumped up from his comfortable position in his leather-studded chair, limbs flying as he scrambled to reach his phone.

“Aziraphale!” he shouted the instant the phone was picked up. “You idiot, I’m coming over. Be at the bookshop when I get there.” He didn’t wait for a response, just hung up dramatically and made for the door.

Crowley didn’t bother knocking when he reached the bookshop, easily miracling the doors open and yelling Aziraphale’s name at the top of his lungs. There was one customer finishing up his purchase upon Crowley’s arrival, who quickly gathered his books and left, sensing that this man was not someone he wanted to mess with.

“Yes, yes, I’m right here, Crowley, I can hear you. What do you need?”

Crowley was not one to mince words. “I don’t want to use the water to _kill_ myself, you moron!”

“You — you don’t? I thought you wanted it for insurance, in case it all goes bad?” Aziraphale still looked confused, but Crowley could see a bit of relief dawning in his eyes.

“I do, but if I have to die, I’d rather not have it be by holy water. Miserable way to go. I want it for protection. A contingency plan, if you will. Just in case.” 

( _just in case you can’t always be there to protect me._ )

“Oh. I still don’t approve, but that’s... a little better.”

“What, can’t bear the thought of me being able to protect myself?” At that, Aziraphale gave him a _look_ , and Crowley instantly shut up. 

“No, I’d rather you have a plan in the event something happens to me. I don’t necessarily like the thought of you being, ah, alone, but I suppose it’s good to plan for such things.”

“Hopefully I’ll never have to use it. But of course, if I ever get sick of this mortal coil…” Crowley left the end of the statement hanging, giving Aziraphale a crooked smile. It occurred to him that the teasing remark might be a bit much, considering the circumstances, but as any demon worth his salt was wont to do, he pushed his limits. 

Aziraphale didn’t return the smile. “Don’t say that.”

“I didn’t mean it, angel.”

“Promise me, Crowley. Promise me you won’t ever use that water—or anything, for that matter—to end your life.” Something in his eyes made the smile die on Crowley’s lips.

“I swear on Satan’s crown, Aziraphale. I won’t.”

Aziraphale didn’t reply, just moved towards Crowley, slowly reaching up to take off his ever-present sunglasses. Once he could see Crowley’s eyes, he tucked them neatly into Crowley’s jacket pocket, then pulled slightly away.

Crowley was silent, just blinking slowly at Aziraphale. It was a good thing he did, because it allowed him to catch Aziraphale’s next words, spoken quietly into the musty bookshop air. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not gonna lose me, angel. If anything, it’s...it’s me who’s afraid of losing you.” 

( _don’t take that lightly, angel. I never, ever admit I’m afraid._ )

Aziraphale exhaled, finally meeting Crowley’s eyes again. “I’m not the one who lives my life so carelessly, my dear. Your people and mine would do awful things to us if they found out about our Arrangement, you know that.”

“I can…” Crowley scowled, “I can try to be more careful, if you’d like.”

“I would like, thank you.” Aziraphale replied, brightening a bit.

“But if I have to slow down, it would be nice if you’d, well, speed up; meet me in the middle?” Crowley asked hopefully, lifting a hand towards Aziraphale’s face.

The moment ended quickly, Aziraphale’s hand flashing up to catch Crowley’s wrist. “Not…not yet. I’m not ready. I need time.”

Crowley sighed, wishing he was still wearing his sunglasses to hide the pain flashing in his serpentine eyes. Aziraphale used to compliment those eyes often. He hadn’t done it for several centuries.

“I’m guessing that means you won’t accept my offer for dinner at the Ritz.”

“I’m sorry, Crowley. Truly. Just, take care of yourself, please.” Aziraphale gave Crowley a pained smile, sliding his hand along the demon’s wrist to lace their fingers together, giving a single squeeze, then letting go.

“Sure, angel. I’ll wait for you. If we’ve got anything at all, it’s time.” Crowley took a step backwards, away from Aziraphale and towards the door.

“I suppose you’re right.” Aziraphale nodded farewell, and Crowley felt the angel’s eyes on him until the heavy wooden doors shut with a heavy thud. The sound reminded Crowley of a gavel on a judge’s bench, condemning him to a life far too full of sin for any angel as holy as Aziraphale to want for his presence.

~

Sometime later, on his knees in the midst of a burning bookshop, Crowley thought he understood why Aziraphale was so loathe to risk losing him. He wouldn’t wish this pain and suffering on anyone.

As Crowley walked out those wooden doors for what he was sure would be the final time, he ran a hand through his rain-slicked hair, feeling the heat of Aziraphale’s funeral pyre on his back. They had run out of time, and now he had no one to wait for, no one to love.

He was going to go get absolutely hammered.


End file.
